Natalie was reaching for the gun at her waist when Chance grabbed her wrist. “It’s Tracker. C’mon.”
He drew her with him as the “woman” opened the back doors to the van. Natalie had a hard time recognizing Tracker McBride. He was wearing a blond wig, and unless she’d known, she wouldn’t have guessed that the snug-fitting uniform hid the tough, athletic body that she knew he possessed.
“The security is tight here. The guard searched the back of the van when I came in because I wasn’t on his list from the catering company.”
“Do I want to know how you convinced him to let you in?” Chance asked, amusement clear in his voice as he climbed into the back of the van and held out a hand to Natalie.
Tracker patted the blond wig he was wearing and wiggled his hips. “My charm, of course. We developed quite a rapport.”
“It’ll be tougher this time,” Chance warned. “Carlo has instructed the guards that no one is allowed to leave.”
“I love a challenge,” Tracker said with a grin before he shut the doors.
“He seems confident,” Natalie murmured.
“If anyone can get us out, he can,” Chance assured her.
“He’ll want to search the van.” Tracker spoke from behind the wheel at the front of the van this time. “Think you can handle it?”
“No problem,” Chance said. “I’ve got my partner with me.”
Partner. The sound of the word warmed Natalie and eased the jumping nerves in her stomach. Neither she nor Chance spoke as the van moved forward and eventually pulled to a stop at the gate.
“Lots of excitement,” Tracker said to the guard, using his husky almost falsetto voice.
“Mr. Brancotti is a stickler when it comes to security, and there was a problem earlier today. I can’t let anyone leave.”
Tracker laughed. “Do I look like I pose any threat to Mr. Brancotti? And you checked me out earlier.”
There was a pause, and Natalie wondered just what Tracker was up to.
“Be a sport,” Tracker continued. “I’ve delivered the extra food they needed, and I have a date tonight. You can check the back of the van.”
There was another silence, but Natalie could hear the guard and Tracker walking along the side of the van. It was dark and she could barely see Chance, but they moved in unison, flattening themselves into the corners on either side of the doors.
A moment later the doors opened and the guard, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other, stepped up into the van. Natalie slipped her foot out, and when he stumbled, Chance clipped him hard on the back of his neck. The man fell like a stone.
“Nice going,” Tracker said as Chance leaned down to tie the guard’s hands behind his back. “You guys make a great team.”
Natalie turned to Tracker. “How did you convince him to take a look?”
Tracker shot her a grin. “Money. Sometimes, it works a lot faster than my charm—” he smoothed his hands over his hips “—though I can’t imagine why.”
NATALIE DRIFTED awake as if she were surfacing from a long dive. The scent of coffee was the first thing that her conscious mind identified. Then everything came back to her in a rush. She and Chance had stolen the Ferrante diamond from Carlo Brancotti, and they’d left a fake one behind. Mission accomplished!
Once they’d taken care of the guard at the gate, their escape with Tracker in the van had gone without a hitch. Carlo’s security team had been focused on the beach area. For a moment, she allowed her mind to linger on those few charged moments in the van when she and Chance had been so in tune about how to take out the guard. They might have been working together for years.
The events after that had been less clear. At some point after they’d boarded Steven Bradford’s plane, the adrenaline rush she’d been riding on all day had faded, and she’d fallen asleep. She vaguely remembered that Chance had carried her into the bedroom. Then nothing.
Opening her eyes, she saw that she was still in the bedroom on the plane. And Chance was gone. But he’d been here. At some point, she’d felt him lying beside her, holding her. The pillow next to hers still bore the indentation from his head. As she ran her hand over it, she realized that the plane was stopped.
Just when had they landed? Throwing the covers off, she noted that she was still wearing her Cat Woman costume. She checked the bathroom first, but it too was empty. After taking a moment to brush her teeth and run her fingers through her hair, she moved quickly to the door.
But it was Tracker and not Chance that she saw sitting at a table, tapping at the keys of his laptop. He glanced up immediately. “Good morning. Want some coffee?”
“Where’s Chance?” A funny little feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach the moment she’d seen that the airplane door stood open.
Tracker handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “I was under orders to let you sleep.”
“Where’s Chance?” Natalie repeated.
Tracker shot her a smile. “Promise not to kill the messenger?”
At any other time, she might have been charmed. Hell, she might even have been amused. But the funny little feeling was making her stomach roll and her throat tighten. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Tracker sighed. “Yeah. I told him he should wake you, but he had to get the diamond back to the London office. He tried to get out of it, but there’s some red tape he has to take care of in person.”
In some part of her mind, Natalie listened to Tracker’s explanation. It was logical, perfectly understandable. Chance’s part of the job wasn’t over. So he’d had to fly off to London to tie up loose ends. A sickening sense of déjà vu filled her.
“Chance has to move quickly,” Tracker said. “He hoped you’d understand.”
Natalie thought she understood very well. The adventure was over, and a man like Chance—a man so like her father—would want to be on to the next one as soon as possible.
“Yes,” she said. She did understand. She’d signed on for the job, and now it was over. She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, and she blinked—but it was too late. The first drop slid down her cheek.
“Shit,” Tracker said as he pushed the laptop away and rose. “Natalie, don’t.” He drew her against him and held her. “I told him to wake you and explain it himself. But he—”
Natalie held herself stiff. She had to stop crying. There was no sense to it. She never cried. She hadn’t, not once, since her father had left.
“He’s coming back, Natalie. He told me to tell you—”
Tracker broke off when suddenly she used all of her strength to push away.
“What is it?” he asked.
She scrubbed tears away with the heel of her hand. “You called me Natalie.”
For a second a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Yes…oh, shit. Shit. Shit.”
“If you know I’m not Rachel Cade, then—” As Tracker continued to swear, Natalie remembered the moment when she’d been trying to hear the last part of the combination to Carlo’s safe. Chance had used her father’s exact words. “You can do it, Nat.”
He’d called her Nat. The sharp band of pain tightening around her heart had her rubbing her chest with her fist.
“He’s known all along, hasn’t he? That I’m Natalie, not Rachel Cade?”
“He…I….” It was pure panic that she saw on Tracker’s face now. Later, much later, she was going to remember